


HOLY CUNTS! A Hit-Girl Christmas Story

by webhead3019



Category: Kick-Ass (Movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27636001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webhead3019/pseuds/webhead3019
Summary: It's Christmas Eve at the South Pole Workplace. The shady toy manufacturers running the facility are about to go out with holiday bang. Tonight, everyone’s favorite elf is going to cross off everyone who made the cut on old Saint Nick’s Naughty List.





	1. I’m Hit-Girl

My name is Mindy McCready. By day, I'm just your average girl. I go to school at Millard Fillmore and I don't have much of a social life. My only friend is Dave Lizewski, which doesn't say much. He's the one who suggested I go to school with him. I grew up home schooled. Don't let this fool you. I'm smarter than the rest of my classmates. Even though I'm only 13, I was allowed to skip 3 years. Dave has at least 2 other friends, although he's the only one who really gets bullied regularly. My bullies aren't so regular. Trust when I say I’ve made fucking sure of that. Any cunt who fucks around with me regularly or not is bound to reap the ultimate consequence by fucking dying by my hands.

The crowd of asshole lord-of-shit thunder cunts I face after school hours are my fucking true regulars. Whereas I might hospitalize these cum-guzzling punks in broad fucking daylight, I put them down for fucking good the second the moon hits. I was raised to be a vigilante assassin by my father Damon McCready, also known as Big Daddy. Dave goes by an alter ego as well, which is Kick-Ass. Dave is much more well-known and thought to be the first superhero, but it was actually me and Big Daddy. I suppose this brings us back full fucking circle. By night, I'm Hit-Girl. I don’t just kick ass, I fucking kill ass. Any cunt tries to fuck with me and I’ll fucking kill them. End of fucking story, Hit-Girl out.


	2. Deal Gone South

It was Christmas Eve at the South Pole Workplace, a shady toy manufacturing plant centered in the Bronx ghetto. A group of suspicious men were huddled around in the break room. One of the men, a gangly ruffian, wore a red and green elf's felt hat with no bells and displayed one gauged ear. The man ejected the blade from his red boxcutter. The man used the boxcutter to split the tape of a package dead-center. With two hands, he ripped open either side simultaneously. The thug turned the package upside down and dumped the contents onto a table. 6 Ziploc bags worth of ground up Colombian white strand heroin exited the recesses of the package. The drug fiend chuckled, "Ho-ho-hooooly shit. I think we hit the fucking motherlode boys. Ho-ly-god-damn-mo-ther-fuck-ing-shit.”

Raymond shot away, “I really must know, motherfucker? How many fucking more boxes of this shit do our very grateful asses get to fucking open up?" A darker gentleman, the dealer fashioned in a suit responded, "Baby, as much as you fucking want. We got an arsenal fucking full of this shit. Fucking arsenal. Ain't no motherfucker arrogant enough to rival us on fucking supply-and-demand now." The fiend eyed the contents and grinned widely, "Aron, my fucking man! Fetch your fucking syringe. I want to fucking check if this shit is the real deal, motherfucker." Aron, annoyed with the Christmas getup, swept the soft plush Santa Claus hat off his cleanly shaven head, "Raymond. Seriously, fuck? Since when the fuck do we get high on our own goddamn merchandise?" Raymond danced about dramatically, "Do you want to see the fucking drug deal of the century gone terribly fucking south?"

Albeit more with a sense of defeat, Aron nodded no. Raymond sighed loudly, "Really? Good to fucking hear. Now, fucking don't be a wise guy and hand me a fucking syringe like I previously fucking asked." Aron reluctantly drew a syringe from his left rear pocket and held it out awkwardly for Raymond to retrieve. Raymond stared at Aron for a moment. Upon collecting his thoughts, Raymond snatched up the syringe. Raymond wrapped a strip of tape from the open box tightly around his arm. Raymond slapped his arm a few times to get it warmed up as he loaded up the syringe. Upon acknowledging the fact Aron wasn’t wearing his green elf hat, Raymond further humiliated him by remarking, "Oh, and retard? Put your fucking hat back on, will you? I fucking mean, shit. We’re at the South fucking Pole for crying the fuck out loud!” Much to the distress of those around him, a clearly rookie thug stifled a laugh at that.

Like some drill sergeant bat out of Hell, Raymond looked at the man annoyed and hollered, "Hey you. Yes, you. You fucking shit-eating, grinny motherfucker. Who the fuck you fucking staring at? Huh? Fuck off. With a fucking face like that, I can only fucking assume you want a piece of my fucking ass. Faggot. Are you fucking gay, faggot?” Raymond slapped the man across the face with his free hand and repeated, “Just who the fuck are you fucking staring at?" Raymond squeezed the syringe and shot himself up. Raymond moaned in orgasmic ecstasy. An adolescent girl's voice broke the awkward silence, "Who am I staring at? A bunch of drug peddling deadhead cunts to fucking wipe off my naughty list, that’s who!" The source of the voice was nowhere to be found. All 12 thugs inhabiting the break room were men, including the dealer of course.


	3. Party Starter

Aron and two of the cronies nearest to him instinctively drew their assault rifles. The dealer himself felt for a piece in his pocket, choosing to hold position as a last resort. Raymond clumsily dropped the syringe and retrieved the red box cutter back off the table. The remaining 7 gunners stood on standby. Surprised, Raymond leapt backwards, "Who the fuck said that? I fucking said--" Raymond stops mid-sentence upon acknowledging he wasn't getting anywhere. Raymond swiveled back to Aron, "God-fucking-dammit, Aron. I thought you said we were fucking alone here. Niiiigger!" Aron bellowed, "Woah. Cool it, brother. Fucking. Cool. It. Don't you be pointing no damn fingers especially at my kind black ass, 'cause I ain't do jack fuck." Aron confirmed, "I will however admit to having 8 sentries posted upstairs who fucking handle class shit.”

Aron went on, “Yeah, class fucking shit like this fucking bullshit right here. Without a fucking doubt, these motherfuckers my best gunners. I argue that these motherfuckers are the best in the fucking biz. Fucking feel me, white boy? Do ya feel a nigger, punk Irish cracker ass?" Fed up, Raymond shouted, "If that's the fuckin' case, then be a good lad and fucking explain to m--" Raymond leapt high in the air as Hit-Girl dropped down a laundry chute. Hit-Girl somersaults forward to disorient the crowd, with twin guns blazing. Aron, along with the two gangsters already armed are strategically mowed down in a wrathful barrage of automatic gunfire. They popped in a thousand different ways like the fabric projectiles of celebration cannons. All three were quite literally torn to bloody shreds of confetti in mere seconds.

Psychotic as ever, Hit-Girl announced happily, "Merry Christmas, cunts. Merry Christmas, motherfuckers. Every motherfucking cunt in this building, prepare for your gift: the gift of death! Prepare cunts to motherfucking die!" That is just Raymond's luck. Right as he was about to immerse in his high, Hit-Girl decides to crash the party. Raymond jumped about wildly to avoid the frenetic gunplay. Raymond howled, "Shit! SHIIIIT!! It's that fucking chick psycho slut who put fuckin' D'Amico out of business! What the— what the fuck?! Fuck, what are you shit heads smoking? Fucking meth or something? Is your faggot retards’ fucking vision obscured?” Raymond barked his order angrily, “Man your fucking guns! Take your goddamn motherfucking aim and remove this uninvited fucking psycho cunt off our premises."

Hit-Girl laughed a great big sadistic laugh, terrifying even more shit out of all the already terrified shitless flooding the warehouse. Hit-Girl said, “You’re more than fucking welcome to try, but I gotta tell you! You’re all a bunch of dead fucking cunts. That’s exactly how you’ll all fucking die. You’ll die a bunch of fucking cunt deaths and then I’ll send all you cunts to fucking cunt Hell afterwards. Sweating profusely, Raymond scurried for the doorway. One of the men asked, “Hey?! Where the fuck are you going?” Enraged, Raymond screamed back at him, “Shut the fuck up and do your job, fucking retard! Shut your retarded ass the fuck up and let me do mine, which kindly involves me letting me get the fuck out of here! I’m in charge, cunt! That’s your order, cunt!” As Raymond made his way across the vast space, he grumbled, "I need to get the fuck out of fucking New York. Fuck this fucking city."

Hit-Girl turned her attention to Raymond and cocked her head, "Well, shit. Nail my itty bitty ass on the cross and call me Jesus fucking Christ. Are you fucking going somewhere, asshole? If so, then that’s really too fucking bad... for you. Such a fucking douche. It’s time to say your fucking prayers, cunt." Hit-Girl launched a shrimp popper at Raymond. Raymond's eyes widen, uttering simply, "Fuck." The skewer passes directly through his right gauge, latching the lobe amidst trajectory. The speed in which the skewer was flung carried Raymond with it. The skewer pinned his head against a pegboard with a heavy thud. Hit-Girl finished smugly, "I’m gonna paint the fucking floors and walls with your cunt blood. Hell, I’ll paint the fucking ceiling too. Can’t you fucking see? This fucking party's just getting started, dick bag."


	4. Shots Fired

Raymond kicked about wildly and screamed from the sudden tearing of cartilage, "Fuck! Shit! Gahhh! I'm gonna kill you, imp! I’m gonna fucking kill you, cuuuunt! Fuck, you cuuuunt!" Hit-Girl ducked behind a wall to reload her pistols and responded sarcastically, "I would send you most fucking kind my best holiday wishes, numb nuts. Only, you don't seem to be fucking heading anywhere any fucking time soon. Ciao, cunt boy." Hit-Girl gunned down 2 more thugs. The first one had the misfortune of passing by Hit-Girl's concealed position obliviously. The anti-heroine said, “Have yourself a nice fall fucking trip, fucking cunt head.” Before the man could react, Hit-Girl effortlessly fired a slug through the gunman's temple. The gunman slipped on a power cord and fainted sideways, onto a Christmas tree. A dozen ornaments shattered with the majority of the glass shrapnel getting embedding into the man’s back. A large pool of glassy debris filled blood spread from under him.

Hit-Girl said, “Oof. Don’t fucking wake up from that if you know what’s fucking good for you, cunt.” As for the second, Hit-Girl quipped to him, “Who’s fucking hungry for breakfast. I know I am, motherfucker. How about we have us some scrambled fucking eggs?” As she said this, she dropped to the left and scored a direct central hit in the next thug's glabella. The man jerked back, lodging the back of his skull through the jagged edge of an incomplete drywall. The man slid down, dragging a bloody smear accompanied by several bony crunches as his cranium got cracked apart little by little. Hit-Girl sighed, "You’re all fucking red inside, Yet, you forgot the fucking green, fuck stick. Where's your fucking Christmas spirit?" Hit-Girl could see his still pulsating brain flopping about in the newfound crater lake in his head. Also taking part in the action, he dealer himself said, “Time to pay the Reaper, you prissy white-skinned, violet-pubed cunt.”

Hit-Girl said, “Nice one! Fucking seriously though... ladies first!” The dealer whipped out a revolver, but Hit-Girl had already beat him to it by slapping the next magazine into her trusty left-handed 9MM. Hit-Girl casually fired off a fatal shot, driving the dealer's nose backwards into his cranium. As his face caved in, Hit-Girl could hear his brains combust inside his head like bubble wrap and cracked yolk. Hit-Girl coldly stated, "You’ve been retired from service. Feel free to take the fucking rest of the night off, asshat." Hit-Girl was halfway there. 6 down, 6 to go. One of them was incapacitated at the moment. The seventh man rapidly fired at Hit-Girl, emptying the entire clip. Hit-Girl narrowly yet casually, sidestepped the hail of bullets. The man spun heel and ran the opposite direction. Hit-Girl lit up, "Not so fucking fast, fucko. Did you fucking hear me, fucko? Fucko, you fucking goddamn clown you?" Apparently trying her best to retrieve the 2 second aged memory, Hit-Girl recalled, “I believe I said not so fucking fast, alright?”

She fired a single set-designation shot at him, the bullet passing through the man's nape and tearing out the jugular. Black oxygenized viscera and a crimson bout of arterial spray fountained out as the man slid head-over-heels to the ground. The man spun around with chaotic grace like a split open ballerina as he suffocated to death on his bloody geyser before collapsing. Hit-Girl said, “Told you not to fucking do it, cunt. Fucking didn’t I? Now who’s fucking laughing?” There were more coming for her, but she discovered for herself a new problem to which sue replied, “Crap, this is just cunt fucking luck. Shit, that’ll come up to bite or rape me in the fucking ass alright.” Hit-Girl's gun clicked rhythmically as she felt her locking mechanism seize up. Hit-Girl nevertheless subdued numbers 8 and 9. She declared, “Fuck it, I’ll just have to fucking improvise. I’m fucking Hit-Girl, you fucking daddy-pleaser cunts. Fucking remember that, motherfuckers! This is what I fucking do.”


	5. And Many More

Instead of allowing the gunners time to recuperate, Hit-Girl picked one of the gift boxes and chucked it at a thug's head. The box bounced off weightlessly. Hit-Girl whimpered softly and mock-seriously, "Oh, fuck. Look out." Softer yet, she added, “Is your fucking head okay?” The thug boomed hysterically, "What the fucking hell was that aimed to accomplish aside from pissing me the fuck off, little kid?" The man was one and a half times her size. Hit-Girl caught a water gun ricocheting out the box, "This." Before the thug could laugh again, Hit-Girl fastened a finishing nail off the rack to the side of her into the barrel. The man's eyes widened with agony and surprise as Hit-Girl proceeds to stab the makeshift bayonet through his palm. The man stared at his palm dizzily, "Why you fucking scrawny midget brat. Ehhh... Fuuuuuck. Think I'm gonna be fucking sick now.”

Hit-Girl pushed forward and arced the water gun bayonet back around, aiming at his nose. The man dropped low to avoid getting stabbed. The man blitzed forward and bear hugged Hit-Girl with all his might. In an attempt to reason with true brute, Hit-Girl grunted, "Perhaps I made err— you mad.” He asked, “Fucking perhaps?” Struggling real hard as he was much bigger than her, she asked manipulatively, “Perhaps you— f-fuck! Care to ugh— let go and ahh— fucking talk it out?" Still holding on tight, the man’s muffled by her chest said, “Fat fucking chance, obnoxious cunt.” She said, “Fucking figured you would ack— say that. I’m not much of a ohh— talker either. I would have just fuck-fucking killed you anyway myself.” Starting to really wheeze from all the circulation being cut out of her, Hit-Girl made sure to wrap it up to save her breath for what was coming.

She always had to get one last word in even if it killed her which she always made sure it wouldn’t. And so Hit-Girl ended, “Well, here’s some fucking need-to-know huff— info about me. I always get cack— what I fucking want, man.” Reckoning she had distracted him long enough, Hit-Girl seized her window of opportunity. She seized it by stabbing the bayonet 4 times into the man’s hip with the sleight of her hand before he was able to tackle her to the ground. The man coughed up blood, "Fuck you!" The man's grip broke loose and Hit-Girl whipped the water gun upwards, slashing open his entire wrist artery like a broken hose. Hit-Girl mouthed off, "Fuck me? Fuck you! Now bleed, cunt! Fucking bleed, cunt! Bleed!” Hit-Girl yanked the man up by the scruff of his neck and punctured his chin with the nail attachment. Hit-Girl suctioned out and squeezed the trigger.

Having been loosened up by the stabbing motions, the bloody nail burst free with the squirt and propelled rocket-like by the blast. When the nail had sprang, it lodged itself through the chest plate of the thug behind Hit-Girl's meat shield. Disgusted, the thug spit back blood peppering his face, "You fucking ass! You fucking made me taste that fucktard's blood!" Hit-Girl remarked, "Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. Don't get your pussy’s fucking panties in a wad. You'll be fucking tasting your own momentarily, fired-up fucking cocksucker." Hit-Girl wrenched the crumpling big man down by the arms and frog leapt over his head. Hit-Girl sprung off the behemoth like a stepping stone, causing him to plant face-forward with the floor. While in mid-air, Hit-Girl proceeded to propeller kick the disoriented thug. The nail flattened inside the thug's aorta and he flew back. The thug struck the brunt edge of a table, violently flipping over the other side at a vertical angle. The impact broke the crook's spine in half due to the angle of impact.

Hit-Girl gleamed sardonically, "Have a nice fucking vacation. See you next Autumn." Hit-Girl side-kicked the gun out of the thug's hand closest to her before he could get a clean shot. Hit-Girl twists the man's little finger, causing him to drop down with her. This is timed rightly enough to duck under the 11th gunman's bullet. Hit-Girl batted the man's hand, jamming the crooked digit down the serrated opening for a ULINE bag taper. As his broken finger got bloodily sliced open by the jagged line, the man expressively protests. Hit-Girl eyes the boxcutter Raymond dropped earlier. Hit-Girl sweeps the boxcutter off the floor and yanked the man trapped next to her with a fleshy tear at the last second. A second bullet tore a hole through the walking dead man’s left cheek, which critically injured Hit-Girl's meat shield. Hit-Girl pressed her heel against the man's spine between him and the table, booting him flat on the ground and breaking him into an invertebrate in the process.

Hit-Girl hurled the boxcutter like a boomerang at the last gunner. The small of the blade slashed a partial slit across the the gunman's Adam's apple. Hit-Girl snapped the man's neck underneath with her boot again and redrew her right 9MM. She used the latter to finish the final gunman off through the eye. The ball of his eye splashed gorily and slimily about upon getting decimated by her exploding shell. She was sure some of his eye matter mess went out the back of his skull, judging by the blink and you’ll miss it pinkish-white extract exiting that way. The man hit the floor with a meaty impact. Hit-Girl snapped the barrel to her other 9MM back in place, but left it holstered to conserve ammunition. She figured the guns just needed air before their chambers could flow naturally again. She always took good care of her many, many weapons. Now it was just her and Raymond. Hit-Girl pressed the pistol against Raymond's temple.

Raymond growled, "I have more fucking men upstairs and fucking more in the factory next door, cunt. Get my gist, cunt? You're as fucking good as dead, cunt." Hit-Girl cocked the gun and giggled, "Well, fuck me 6 ways to Hammertown if I'm the fucking dead one? Perhaps it was a feat of pure fucking magic that I fucking found my way down into this fucking shithole of yours in the first place? I already offed the 8 sorry fucks above us, fucking dumbass. I didn’t even need my fucking guns to do it. Why do you think it was so goddamn fucking quiet before I for here? I really made a fucking mess up there though. I’d love to show you what I fucking did and all but it’s exactly like you said, cunt. I’ve got many other fucking cunts to fry first. Oh, but wait. I made sure to save a souvenir just for you.” She brought a castrated penis out of her pocket and wiggled it front of Raymond’s face. The man nearly projectile vomited.

Raymond said, “Oh, dear lord! Fuck! Please tell me that isn’t the real deal.” Hit-Girl evilly and repetitively slapped him across the face with the very sensitive sausage she had diligently lopped off of a man not even 5 minutes ago as she most darkly joked, “Gee fucking whiz, man. You’ve probably felt cock far more than I have, so you fucking tell me motherfucker.” She slapped him in the face with the castrated penis again and said, “Does that feel like fucking rubber to you, retard?” Raymond pleaded, “Okay, fucking stop! That was a retarded fucking question, I fucking understand that now. Just for the fucking love of God, please stop fucking striking me with that man’s penis.” Hit-Girl said, “Whatever, dude. Fuck!” She threw the penis over her shoulder and yelled out awful more yet, “Kobe!” Since they were surrounded by all sorts of office tools, the penis landed inside a paper shredder rather than a waste paper basket. A split-second later, the penis was quite literally reduced to minced sausage grinds. Now, Raymond had no choice but to vomit all over himself.

Hit-Girl droned on, "As for the other still cocked fuckers around here, don't you worry about wee precious me. I'll make short work of them. Indeed, I’ll make short fucking work out of every last one of those fucking cunt rat fuckers." Raymond hissed, "Red Mist won't let you fuck things up this year. What better fucking way to celebrate Christmas after he's claimed his fucking revenge on you and that fucking coward Kick-Ass? With the two of you cunts out of the fucking way, no one will be able to protect the fucking Big Apple from our Godly fucking wrath." Hit-Girl cooed, "So Chris D'Amico truly is gathering a cult of fucking dickheads in his bastard father's footsteps. He's on my fucking shit list too. I would have you relay a message to the pussy cunt, but you sure as fuck proven to not be one for wasting words. Check out the brains on Ray Ray." Raymond bit his lip and began to sob a bit, making Hit-Girl impatient. Taking out a gun to point at his head, she repeated coldly, “Check out the fucking brains on Ray Ray.” Hit-Girl blew out in finality, "Tsk, tsk. Say ah, cunt. Uh-ahhhh."


End file.
